Saturday, November 30, 2013

The last thing I bought was a tank of gas on Wednesday. It’s
Saturday now and the madness that has gripped some people still race through
their veins. They must shop. It’s Christmas. The clock is ticking. They have to
shop. The hopes and dreams of their loved ones depend on their sacrifice in the
name of the Almighty Dollar. There are retail chains whose very lifeblood flows
through the next four weeks of shopping. The country as a whole is either
living or dying depending on the Shopping Season.

For Christmas at my mother’s house we draw names. Everyone
buys and everyone receives one gift. Traditionally, it is something funny and
fun. No one gets or gives anything that costs more than twenty-five dollars.
Stunning isn’t it? What can you buy with that?

The high point of the gift giving at my mother’s house is
the “Camera Bag Exchange”. Many years ago my father gave me a camera and went
on a short soliloquy as to why a company would sell a camera but not supply a
bag for it. My younger sister remembered this and so the next year she gave me
a camera bag; it was a paper bag with “Camera Bag” written on it. It went over
very well indeed. So the next year I bought one of those toy cameras for a few
bucks and gave it back to her. She countered the next year with the bag and a
camera given away with a magazine subscription. The next year I returned the
bag to her with a very, very, very, cheap digital camera that held one photo.

This has gone on now for seven years and neither of us have
put more than ten dollars a year into it.

Not only is this the high point of Christmas for my younger
sister and myself, but everyone else is waiting to see who has it this year and
who is getting what with it this year. It’s exciting for this sort of thing to
happen because it’s pure fun. There are no moving parts. There is no warranty. Batteries
not included. Just something she and I will do and we will remember it long
after the other gifts have all been forgotten.

So, here’s the thing, and it’s really the only thing, are
you trying to buy this sort of moment? If you put enough wrapping paper in a dumpster
somewhere will someone you love be a better person for it? What’s the price on
a family being together and being happy? Does there have to be some credit card
company out there hitting their magic number on purchases before you and yours
can rest easy?

It’s my turn this year to get the bag. It is the only gift I
expect to receive that I am truly looking forward to getting. My older sister
asked me yesterday, “Who has the bag?” and I told her I would have to check. I
think we’ll conspire to keep it a secret and make people guess. That would be
fun, too.

You could get a bag like that for free, you know. And
furthermore, you couldn’t sell it on ebay for a dollar. Yet for the last seven
years the “Bag Exchange” has been something we all have really enjoyed. It’s
simple and it is funny.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Lucas seems to have padded his way down the road to recovery
without so much as looking back. The first few days were bad because his nose
was still bleeding, he was still recovering from being anesthetized but most of
all I think Lucas was in a state of shock from being away from home. The
closest thing we humans can experience to compare to this is alien abduction.
Lucas was in a strange place with nothing familiar there and they cut off part
of his face. For four days he had to wonder where he was, where I was, and how
long this was going to go on.

When I went to get Lucas he was still very stoned. They
wanted to keep him one more day but all things medical looked good and Lucas
was dying. He wasn’t eating, drinking, peeing or pooping. Lucas was shutting
down. Whatever was happening to him wasn’t home and he didn’t want to live
without it. I told work I was going to go get my dog and that was what I did.

The whole way back I had to keep Lucas out of my lap. As
long as I kept on hand on his head Lucas seemed fine. But he had to have that
contact. It wasn’t until we started down the driveway to the house he acted
like he really knew where he was.

That was a week ago, Thursday. This Wednesday we are going
to have the vet come here to take his stitches out. Lucas as recovered entirely
from the Alien Abduction thing. Well, almost. He likes to sleep on top of me more
than he used to and he has to lose weight anyway. He wants his nose close to my
face when we sleep and I don’t mind, really.

That’s what’s missing from a lot of people’s lives these
days, I think. We’ve created a world where connections are made with keyboards
but not with faces. Lucas is scarred up pretty bad but I just want to be close
to that face. I will admit it freely; I suffered terribly without him here with
me. I love my mutts. I wonder how people go about their day to day lives
without someone to love there.

When a close friend of mine told me I couldn’t save Lucas
that I should let him live out his time in comfort until the pain became too
great, I saw the practical wisdom in this thinking. But it lacked love. Love
means being able to see past practicality and seeing a way to get things done
doe someone because love demands it, love compels you do take that leap, love
propels you through the arena of wisdom and logic and dollars and sense and
love lifts you above it all so that nothing else matters to you.

Right now I face harder financial times that I ever dreamed
possible but I cannot say that I care. My close friend came over and asked me
how I was going to manage this and I asked her if she still thought she was
right. The math was on her side but now she wavered; now she sat and saw before
her the evidence at hand that there was something out there which defied her
calculator and honestly I think it daunted her sense of being.

Could you? Would you? Have you? Would you do it again?

I feel more whole for the decision I made. I feel as if
there was a trade I did not know I was making has been made, and I got the
better end of the deal, by far. Now, I wonder if my friend had also at one time
in her life had also made that decision and now saw that part of her soul had
been traded away. I cannot say what she got in that bargain but I do know I
want none of it.

Love. Lucas was going to allow himself to fade away and die
without it. Some would have let him die for the lack of it. We’re all going to
go in the end. Love is the only way to live. Anything less and you’re cowering
in fear of the loss of something you are too afraid to lose to have.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

One of the first things someone told me about the surgery is
that they had to get all of the cancerous cells. Not just a lot of them, but
all of them, and there had to be a “clear margin” around the part they cut out
of healthy cells which would mean all the cancer would be contained within.

One of the more depression and damning pieces of information
that was in the original pathology report was “Margins are not evident” which
meant they would have to cut deeper and wider to make sure the operation was a
success.

That was the thing, really. There wasn’t any other.
Either/or. No middle ground.

This was the text my local vet, who I think is a saint, sent
me this morning: (italics mine)

“Got another fax this morning that is a referral summary. It
says that we will receive the history pass tomorrow. I guess They sent it to me
early by mistake. It says that the wide
margins were achieved. It says in this case long-term survival is a strong possibility.
They want to do a repeat CT scan in 3 to 4 months. Great news! See you on the
20th.”

I stared at the message for about five minutes. The UF vet
called me and told me there is only a ten percent chance of reoccurrence. This
was as good as we could have hoped for and more than I thought we would get.

Lucas will live. I get to keep my dog.

More on another day. I am going to spend some time with my
dogs right now.

Monday, November 11, 2013

When I joined the Army had many preconceived notions as to
what it would be like to speak with veterans of the war in Viet Nam. Of course, once I actually spent some time
with these men it was much more different than I thought it would be on several
levels. The image I had been fed all my life of the strung out and jittery dead-
end soldiers who lived with deep regret over that war was soon replaced with
the reality of professional and dedicated men who went to do what they were ordered
to do and did it as well as they could.

Some of what I heard might never be told because I am
certain they did not want it to be repeated. Some people might not understand.
There was a lot of fire and a lot of darkness and there were very long days and
even longer nights. It was one of the longest and most futile wars we, as a
country, visited upon our military men and women.

The last American general who truly understood the concept
of war was Sherman. When the War Of Northern Aggression was declared against the
Confederacy it was Sherman who warned Lincoln that the war would be a long war
and it would take a standing army of at least nine hundred thousand men to win
it. Lincoln’s military advisors laughed at Sherman and he was exiled away from the
war. When it became clear those who thought the war would be over with few causalities
and in a couple of months were terribly, horribly, wrong, Sherman was brought
back. The war dragged out for over four
years. In the end, Sherman marched through Georgia and created a sixty mile
wide path of death, destruction, and depravation. Those who opposed him were killed. Those who
submitted to him were beholding to him for their very lives.

This was, and it still is, the very essence of how to conquer
a people using force.

In World War Two, Patton understood this very well but there
were now rules in affect that would limit the amount of destruction that might
be created. It was even worse in Korea and it was downright terrible in Nam.
Our recent military actions in the Middle East were very little but American
foreign policy with no thought into consequence and action without regard to
cost.

To Lincoln, Sherman, Patton, and the men and women in
uniform, war was personal. It was worn like a second skin. The heroics of our
military personnel are clearly visible from a level that transcends ordinary
human endeavor. The scared blood that
ran through the veins of the first man to fire a musket at the British pumps
through the hearts of those who fight, kill, and die in Afghanistan. The blood
was spilled in the jungles. And it has never been this blood that has failed us
and it never will fail us.

The leaders who misuse our military and those who misunderstand
history will be revealed in the future as stumbling, ignorant politicians whose
inactions or actions led to death and desecration of those who serve.

This day, of all days, let us remember that those in sit in Washington
do not reflect the values held by those who fight in uniform. Honor, courage,
duty, and commitment to liberty are what these people think their lives are
worth trading for.

Remember, on this day, and every day you are able to walk as
a free person, that those who believe this, those who live it, and those you
owe for it.

They are your true leaders for they have shown the way since
that first musket was fired and they will lead until the last shot echoes into eternity.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

I went to visit with friends last night and they feted me
with a really good supper, a great wine, and a birthday cake. I was gone from
the house for nearly six hours and I was slightly more than a little worried
about Lucas while I was gone. On the upside, Lucas has shown signs of total
emotional recovery. He’s his old self again, or at least 90% of it, and he’s
beginning to push Sam back a bit. Sam’s insurrection is fading. He is no longer
convinced that the top dog can be picked off easily now. Lillith is also
showing signs that she might have taken advantage of Lucas’ weakness and he’s
swatting at her with his paws. Everyone seems to realize Lucas’ mouth isn’t one
hundred percent yet. The downside is that Thursday and Friday nights Lucas bled
a lot out of his nose. The doctors warned me this would happen and Lucas bled
all the way home from the hospital and I’ve washed his blanket and my sheets
every day since he got back.

I am happy to report this morning that all was well when I
returned last night. I needed to let go a little and see what would happen and
everything was perfect when I returned from the party. The L Hounds, Lillith
and Lucas, stormed up on the porch when I got home, snarling at one another
playfully, and when I let them in Lucas reared up on his hind legs to greet me
as he did before all this happened. I call that the Loki Leap. His energy level
is returning in a big way and I can only hope his stitches heal before he
starts running around playing with Lillith as hard as they do.

Last night I had a nightmare where there was an orange bolt
of energy in the kitchen. It extended from the floor to the ceiling and made a
crackling and popping noise. I woke up and could still see the light of it and
still hear it but I realized the dogs hadn’t moved. The general rule of thumb
in this house is this; if the dogs aren’t reacting it isn’t real. I waited for
the smoke alarm to jick off and it didn’t. I couldn’t smell any smoke. The
orange lightning bolt creature was the product of imagination and I went back
to sleep fairly easily.

When we got up this morning not only was there no traces of
our electric fiend but there was also no trace of blood. Lucas has totally
stopped bleeding! I was told if he played too hard this would raise his blood
pressure and make the bleeding worse but after six hours with Lillith the play
seemed to help more than it hurt. I have always thought that sick people and
dogs needed to exercise. There is very little convalescence in sloth.

So, here we are, five days after the operation and things
look good. Lucas seems to be nearly normal emotionally and his body is healing.
We get the pathology report back Tuesday and find out if this is over or if
this is really over.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

On November the 9th, 1970, I took a walk with a
friend and we talked about what getting older meant. Mark was a year younger
than I and we had both been waiting for this day for a while, even though we
weren’t real sure what it all meant. We thought we had some sort of idea. I had
finally turned ten years old. I had reached double digits in age. Mark and I
thought that was one of the coolest things ever.

My life was lived on a timer. Because I was never a good
student I was constantly on what my parents called “restriction” and that day
they had decided to let me out of the house for an hour. I had an hour to talk
about ten years. I remember the phase of the moon in the daylight being a half
moon and I remember it was a clear and cold day.

Mark and I talked about the fact that we had memories that
dug five years down into the past. Five years! That was half a lifetime. There
was a difference between being a kid that was five and being a kid that was
ten. We were so much older and knew so much more than those kids that were just
starting out. And I was ten!

We walked around our neighborhood and I didn’t realize the next
birthday I would be living somewhere else, in another house, in our hometown of
Blakely Georgia. My parents would be divorced; something that was alien to us
all. Mark and I wouldn’t be friends anymore. We were already drifting apart. His
parents, in a response to desegregation, had sent him to a private school. This
would be one of the last times he and I would walk this neighborhood in its
present form and in less than five years it would be changed forever and it
would keep changing.

The open field that we had walked that day is now a city
park with a baseball field and all the trappings that go with it. There is a
paved road on the other side that we once knew as a footpath through the woods.
The dirt road that bordered the field is also paved. The City Pool, where we
spent entire summers trying to grow gills is gone, totally destroyed, broken up
and buried on site. The house where I once lived, right next to the pool, has
been painted a garish yellow color. As we walked that day and imagined the
future we never thought it would look the way that it does. Hell, the next year
was something we couldn’t have anticipated and we didn’t.

I had no idea that in less than five more years I would
start drinking and smoking. I would start smoking pot in four more years. The
future was moving in fast and immediate. My father had given up on me two years
earlier and in less than a year my mother would be gone. The family would be
split up; my sisters would go live with my mother and I with my father, but we
would all leave the house we grew up in. We would leave the place where Spud and
Cookie was buried. We would take Spike and Smut with us when we went and they
would both be dead in less than five years.

Mark and I agreed to try to remember as much as we could
from that day. I am nearly certain I couldn’t go back to that spot and find
where he had stood. Far too much has changed. There are more houses there now.
There is more pavement. People lack the sense of village that we held back then
when the whole neighborhood was community property and we kids wandered
everywhere at will. Dogs were never on a leash. It was safe to play in the streets
and there were no roads we couldn’t take our bikes. But the world was changing.
I had turned ten years old.

We talked about what it would be like in another ten and
that frightened us a bit. Ten years was a lifetime. How could we cope with
being adults in ten years when we were so terribly far away from it at ten? We
took a step back from the future because in South Georgia, children were taught
that age meant maturity and until you reached a number you hadn’t reached another
level of being. Adults were infallible and we sure as hell didn’t feel
infallible. It was a false dichotomy that kept any of us from being truly
prepared for life. Everything would be okay once you reached eighteen. Your
ticket would be punched. You would receive wisdom. You would be transformed by
magic. You would be an adult.

Birthdays were already meaning less to us and to our
parents. The little kids got birthday presents and parties and we older kids
were slowly but surely getting fewer toys and more clothes for birthdays. Gone
were those gatherings where there would be ten children brought together and
there would be screaming and yelling and a very good time as we all got jacked
up on frosting and Kool-Aid. Mark and I talked about the good old days where we
were much younger and much more free. There were beginning to be some stern
warnings against acting like kids these days.

My time was up so I headed back home. There was a fire
burning in the trash barrel in back of mark’s home and I remember smelling the
acrid smoke on that day. Everyone burned their trash or at least part of it and
we would be the last generation to do so. The sun began to go down and I knew I
was late getting back. The wind was colder that day and I decided to run home.
Adults never ran just for the hell of it and wondered if any of them every stopped to think
when it was the last time they ran, just for the hell of it, across the yard
and just ran for the hell of it, because they could.

Friday, November 8, 2013

In just over twenty-four hours things have settled down
considerably here in Hickory Head. Sam, for reasons that escape me completely,
was aggressive as hell towards Lucas when he got back. But Lucas diminished is
still more than a match for the elderly Sam. My biggest fear was Lucas would
rip his stiches out and oh, yeah, kill Sam. Sam’s playbook has just one thing
written on every line of his ways-to-react scenarios; aggression.

For those of you with anger issues please take notice that
Sam was abused, horribly and systematically abused, when he was a little puppy.
Now, twelve years later he still reacts the same way to anything that is
different and new. If you find yourself being able to think back at your own
life and see this in yourself…

Lillith has resumed the role of Little Angel and Pibble
Princess. She tags along behind Lucas and doesn’t rush the door anymore. I’m
going to take Lucas and put him in the truck as soon as he’s a little stronger
and then we’ll get to train Miss Lillith on how not to react when the Loki Mutt
isn’t around. I cannot have her going off the deep end when her Lucas is being
moved around for whatever reason, even though I sure do hope that is over for a
while. A very, very, long while.

While at the hospital one of the students who were looking
after Lucas sat me down and discussed his weight with me. Lucas, at this very
moment, tops in at nearly one hundred and twenty pounds, minus what he lost in
the last few days, which seems to be three or four pounds. The veterinarian suggested
to me that Lucas get down to, are you ready for this, seventy-five pounds. That’s
right, Lucas has to lose forty –five pounds. I knew he was chubby but I didn’t
think he was that bad off. It was more than a little embarrassing when the surgeon
brought it up again later. They told me to give him half a can of wet food a
day until he reaches his target weight.

Mostly, Lucas has slept since he’s been back. Yesterday he
walked around very slowly with his head down and he kind of shuffled around
when he went out. He would follow me but he didn’t go off on his own and I didn’t
want him to either. But today he bounded out of the back door and looked around
as if he was looking for a trespasser or a squirrel or something to chase. His
energy level is still very low but there is a spring in the step of the Loki
Mutt once again. His spirits are lifting on an hourly basis. I have my dog
back.

Sam has spent today in retreat. He won’t go out with Lucas
and I do not understand this because Lucas hasn’t acted with aggression towards
Sam. When Lucas and Lillith has gone out Sam has hung back and not gone, and
then waited until they were out for a few minutes before he went to the door. I
am not sure at all what to make of this except it is very weird.

Lillith is in heaven. I have never seen a dog miss another
like she missed Lucas and he seems to delight in being near her.

Tuesday we will get the pathology report back in and if the
margins are good we’re reduced to fighting Lucas’ weight problem. I can take a
deep breath.

In every medical endeavor involving any species there are
people who are there to herd the monies in the right direction. The cost of
Lucas’ operation was going to be high. I went and got a first opinion from a
vet I wound up not liking and that was expensive, too. But this isn’t about
money or how much things cost. This is about the people within a system where
there is money being exchanged. This is about small job and large hearts. This
is about the journey not the destination.

A couple weeks ago, on my girlfriend’s birthday we went to a
very nice restaurant. It was going to be our last night out for a very long
time, we were sure of that, and it would certainly be our last night out at
this level. At that point we only knew that I was going to take a pretty good
hit in the check book but we decided to go out and for one night forget about
what was to come.

The waiter’s name was Russ. He came and went with a sense of
fluidity that only people who know people can accomplish. We seemed to realize
this was a bittersweet night for us and he also knew his job. He knew the menu.
He knew the wine and how to serve it. Russ was like a good friend who was
hosting a party at his house and we were good friends he wanted to take care of
in his house. We had a gift certificate that covered most of the bill but I
left him a tip he’ll remember. Russ didn’t cook the food or make the wine, but
he made the experience a little more special but being who he needed to be.

The woman who was explaining the finances at the Small
Animal Hospital was named Bianca. She sat down with me and explained what it
might cost and how I might be able to finance it all. She was very young, I
thought, and while she was speaking to me about money Lucas was taken away from
me, lead away through a door, and suddenly it was all very real. My dog was
gone. I might never see him again.

But Bianca guided me through what was and what was going to
be. I asked her about the tattoo on her wrist. ‘Without Fear” in Italian was
written there in ink, never to be removed or to fade. I cannot say that seeing
that made my mind up. I can tell you that inspiration is found in small and
unlooked for places. Kindness and compassion are contagious. A young woman with
a tattoo told me that in the end, I would be gutted financially. Realism is her
job. How she delivered the news was another story altogether. This was more
about Lucas than money to me and somehow, even though this is how Bianca makes
her living, I felt like she wanted Lucas to live.

Someone sent me five dollars. They also sent me an apology
for not sending more. After all, considering all things, what on earth could
five dollars do for Lucas and myself? It’s a gallon of gas and a bottle of
water. But I needed a gallon of gas and a bottle of water. More than that, I needed,
desperately needed, to know that people cared. I had no idea how much I needed
that until strangers, online and in person, began to show me they cared.

Does one hundred dollars mean someone cares more than five?
No. In a sense, the person giving me five dollars is giving me more of what
they can than someone handing me a hundred. The idea of caring about a dog that
someone will never see in person is not alien to me. I care about Popeye and
Violet. Ranger and Pepper, Houdini and Karma. These are all dogs I will never
meet but in my own way, I love.

It never occurred to me so many people would love Lucas. I
am awed. I am daunted. I am brought to a level of humanity I did not think
existed in so many people. I have written thank you notes to everyone who has
sent me anything. I got this back:

“The world is a funny place. Me I appreciate your writing
and more importantly your love of your friends. Cheers mate! I wish I could do
more and I wish Lucas the best. I know he has an awesome friend in you.”

I’ve gotten more mail like this than you can know.

Russ, Bianca, and the people who send five dollars aren’t
going to change anything in a material sense. But they will change hearts. Compassion
only comes in the large size. There are no small loves. There isn’t an act of
kindness that is unnoticeable. None of this, not one cent, not one word, not
one prayer, and not one smile will ever be forgotten. Ever. Never.

I am in debt. I am deeply in debt. No, as I have told you,
this isn’t about money, no, not at all. This is about being given love and empathy
and kindness and being held up emotionally by people who I never knew I had
touched with my writing.

I owe now. And in some way, each and every day of my life,
every moment and every chance to give back, even if it is not to these people,
I will offer myself to those who I can help.

Ultimately, this is the One Great Truth in all of this; Compassion.
Love. Humanity. You don’t need money. You need to care. You need a heart. You
need to reach out and no matter how small it may seem from your end, from over
here, where it is needed, it is mighty.

I am so very much going to write down everyone’s name who
has helped me. And in some way, in the name of those people, I am going to
spread the goodness forever.

Lucas is alive. So many people have made this possible and
have made my state of mind in this time steady and true.

This is a debt I will spend the rest of my life repaying and
nothing could make me happier.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The people at the University of Florida Small Animal
hospital in Gainesville Florida are made entirely of the awesome. One of their
students, a man named Sergio, called me two or three times a day while Lucas
was with them and his updates were incredible. That said, it was still a long
drive down there again. I got off at lunch today and started the two hour trip
down to get Lucas.

Would he be awake, hysterical to see me, stoned, wounded, or
what? A million questions wandered through my mind. Sergio told me Lucas was
having problems urinating. What if those problems were permanent? What if Lucas
took some damage while he was under and didn’t remember me? What if…?

The Small Animal Hospital is a very nice place. In and out
people with dogs came and when while I waited and the dogs all came over to see
me. Okay, I stood in the doorway, or close to it, like a Wal-Mart greeter for
canines, “Hi welcome to the hospital would you like to be petted?” Most dogs
will walk towards me when they see me. It’s a body language thing, I think, and
I always smell like happy dogs.

There was no way for me to be ready for how Lucas was going
to look. Everyone has always told me he was a handsome dog and I have always
thought he was by far the most photogenic animal I have ever shared my life
with but when they brought him to me I nearly cried. There is a large scar
running down the center of his muzzle. The right side of his face is more or
less caved in and his lip doesn’t totally cover his bottom teeth anymore
because his top teeth aren’t there to hold it out. His nose looks pinched
because of this.

He walked up to me and licked me on my face and I held him.

My dog. I have my dog. My dog.

Sergio had to repeat most of what he said because I couldn’t
stop looking at Lucas’ face. Oh damn. But the stitches come out in two weeks.
He has three different kinds of meds. There’s still some blood coming out of
his nose. And we do not know if they got it all yet. The surgeon came in and
told me that most of his face will look more normal as it heals. “Did you get
all the cancer and can he function?” Yes. “Thank you!” and that is all that
needs to be said, really.

On the way home Lucas wanted to sit in my lap but settled
for having his head on my hand or my knee. He wouldn’t be still unless we were
touching in some way. One hundred and thirty-one miles to go and then I will
have Lucas home again.

It’s an odd thing, time is. Two hours doesn’t seem like a
very long time but when you have an injured dog you are dying to get home and
the traffic is bad it all seems so hellish. I was afraid to speed, afraid to
slow down, I was afraid he’s start bleeding, I was afraid he would stop
breathing, and if I could just get him home…

Home. Why is it we think things will be better if we can
just get home? Lucas is far better off in a hospital than he is here, isn’t he?
But no. He stopped drinking and wouldn’t pee on a leash for Sergio, saint that
the man is. Lucas wanted to go home, to Lillith, and to the place he knows
every tree. He kept his head down and didn’t look up until we got to the driveway
then he sat up and looked at me as if he was asking if finally, please, could I
just go home?

Lillith raked the door with her paws and yelped. Lucas went
to the door and stood there and waited for me to open it. The two were
reunited, nose to nose, lick to lick, pack to pack. We went out in the yard and
Lucas drank from the water bucket, peed three times, had two bowel movements
and drank again. Home. Lucas was home. Lucas is home.

Lucas is home. He’s snoring softly on the floor as I write
this. I haven’t been this lucid in weeks. I feel alive. I feel wonderful. I
feel like…I’m home, too. There is still work to be done on Lucas, minor stuff,
check-up stuff, but that will wait for another day. I have tomorrow off. Lucas
and I are going to sleep late and then we’re going to go in the backyard and
his little sister is going through some training. But Lucas is home. Home is
where the mutt is.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

I got a call late yesterday and Lucas won’t come home today.
Friday seems to be the day of choice right now and not all the problems are
medical, I fear. Lucas is bleeding but not bad. He has some issues in not
urinating when they walk him and they might have to put in a catheter. He’s
never peed before on a leash so I understand that part. Lucas, I fear, just
wants to go home. They say Friday. That’s a long time away for us all. The
depression has got to be getting to him because it’s getting to the rest of us.

Sam is immune to missing most people and dogs except one
woman and me, but he isn’t the same right now. Sam is more needy than ever even
though he is getting more attention. Lillith came unglued when I took Lucas
from her and she isn’t doing well at all. She seems to think if she acts up
enough Lucas will return to make her behave. I’m constantly having to tell her
to get down from pawing at the windows and doors. Lillith wants to go looking for
Lucas and if I don’t get him back soon I’m afraid she might.

This is as good as it will get until we get Lucas back home.
I feel tired all the time and I can’t write anymore. I can’t stand the idea of
Lucas thinking he’s been abandoned or he’s being punished or whatever he’s
thinking right now. He’s alone in a strange place with people he doesn’t know
and no one is telling him the things he’s always been told. No matter how good
they treat him there is no way he feels loved like he feels at home.

The people of this world have been good to me and Lucas,
very good, much better than I could have ever hoped or dreamed and I am
incredible grateful for each and every person who has contacted me in various
ways during this time. The one bright spot in all of this is how people are responding
to Lucas the Lumpy and I am truly appreciative.

Monday, November 4, 2013

On the way down to Gainesville I kept wondering what I would
do if they told me they would have to take off half of his face to save him and
it would cost a billion dollars. Lucas acted nervous the whole way down. The
departure had once again gone badly; Lillith damn near tore the back door down
when I put Sam and herself out, and she realized I was taking Lucas. The love
between those two is an unusually strong thing. I cannot say that I have
witnessed anything like it before.

The way was long. The flash drive was loaded with classical music
and very intentionally I had picked songs that were over ten minutes in length a
piece. One hour could pass with just four or five tracks played out and the
drive was over in just over two hours.

The UF small animal hospital is a great place. Everyone
there seemed focused and friendly and they knew who Lucas was before he got
there. Lucas didn’t like the place and liked even less the odd and rangy
looking mutt that took a shot at him. But Lucas didn’t react at all he just
backed up a bit and sneered at the mutt. For as little outside socialization he
has had with strange dogs Lucas does very well.

It would seem that Lucas is now pushing close to one hundred
and eighteen pounds and the vets I saw told me this was going to be a problem
if I didn’t do something about it soon. To have cancer doctors talk diet with
me was sobering. I really have to get some weight off that dog and soon. They
took him in to be CT scanned and X-rayed so I went to see my old friend Tom.

I’ve never been to Tom’s farm, or met his border collie,
Houdini, or his wife, and it was a great place to go to wait out the testing.
Life in rural Florida is something most people miss because of the tourist
traps and all, and most people do not realize that most of Florida is still a
very simple and good place. It is disappearing very quickly though. The big
Oaks are all being killed for strip malls and that is a terrible thing. Tom
told me I would do the right thing and in this, I knew that whatever I did most
people would agree with so it’s not like there would be a lot of people second
guessing me. Except me.

At three...There was a room full of people at the meeting and the surgeon
brought out a dog skull to better show me where the cuts would be made and how.
There was a computer there with the CT scan on it and they walked me through
where the tumor was and what it would take to remove it. They had a file full
of computer photos that showed a dog that had been through the same type of
surgery.

“How long will Lucas live if everything goes as well as it
can?”

A dog that size might live four or five more years anyway.
Who knows? Six would be the high end of it.

“What are the chances of reoccurrence?”

Low, if the surgery goes well but we really won’t know until
it’s over and done with”

“And if the surgery fails?”

“There are other options but at that point it’s not good at
all.

“So I try it and it could fail and I would still lose Lucas?”

Yes.

“What happens if I do nothing?”

The tumor grows at the rate it has been until it begins to
kill him. Three to six months.

“Where are you from, doc?”

A little town outside London.

“You have many snakes there?”

No, we don’t what we have are quite pathetic, actually

“A year or so ago, Lucas charged a Cottonmouth and for his
trouble he got bit. But that’s Lucas. All that mattered to him was to protect
me and everyone else from the snake so in he charged like an idiot.”

Uh, okay.

“We go in. If it works it works. Lucas will die as he has
lived. Let’s do it. “

Lucas goes under tomorrow. It’s going to cost more money
than I can hope to gather up but I do not care.

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About Me

The Non Disclaimer

My writing reflects the things I see, think, and experience, and those things in my past that have led me to be me. It is not always pretty, it is not always funny, and no one has ever made mention of my life as a Disney Movie. If sex, drugs, profanity, or a general irreverence for all things religious somehow offends you, well, there are other blogs which will satisfy your need for self assurance.